


Alive at the End of the Universe

by pocketfulofsundays



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Loki is Alive, Marvel Norse Lore, Multi, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), fight me, inspired by Norse canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2020-07-10 01:26:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19897591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocketfulofsundays/pseuds/pocketfulofsundays
Summary: Thanos has arrived. The people of Asgard are in peril, their home destroyed and their future uncertain. As they flee, Loki Odinson, Prince of Asgard, brother of Thor, is slain.But death doesn’t suit the God of Mischief. Across the universe, far removed from the chaos, his fate is waiting for him, whether he will accept it or not.





	1. Prologue

_“…we are under assault… our crew is made up of Asgardian families, we have very few soldiers here… this is not a warcraft, I repeat this is not a warcraft…”_

Every mouth in the viewing room is utterly silent, but the air is feverish. Every eye is trained on a floating sphere, the only source of light in the windowless, domed chamber, beaming the genocide from the other side of the universe. Images of blood, gore and death blur into a hideous montage, while the roars of the Gods desperately battling the unseen enemy– unseen, but in no way unknown– are drowned out by mounting screams. The flash of pale blue lightning and the glint of cold blades become ever more infrequent until finally, there he is; and the last faint scrap of hope left among the watchers is abandoned by all but the youngest and most foolish, those who have not heard the stories and prophecies, or have chosen to pray to Bor and Odin, Thor and the Valkyrie and anyone else for salvation.

But salvation would not be found for Asgard. Not that day.

“Here me, and rejoice.”

At these words, the electric silence is finally broken by the beginnings of crying. It seems to them that the air is heavy, breathing becomes a labour. Collective grief, fresh and raw, spoiling the atmosphere and filling the chamber; not a soul has the energy or the heart to fight it, or charm it away.

The mood does not lift at the entrance of the Midgardian. Prayers and invocations are muttered to send the mighty Watcher, who had defended the realm longer than anyone else, his final bout of strength; and thereafter, to send him safely and gloriously to Valhalla.

The mortal arrives on Midgard at the exact moment in which the Watcher’s soul exits his body.

Next is the Trickster. As the God of stories and lies, he who was caught between two worlds, spits out one final curse, a woman, her face hidden in a blue cloak, reaches out in her mind’s eye, in vain. She is too late, and panic washes over her as she realises what she must do.

Then they’re gone, just as suddenly as they appeared, and there is only the King crying over his brother’s lifeless corpse, surrounded by death. He will stay by his side forever, his grief and his loss are overwhelming, he cannot leave him here, he has failed his family, failed his people, he will not leave them.

He will have no choice.

As the ship explodes, sending bodies and debris scattering across the cosmos, the last thing Thor sees before losing consciousness is Loki’s face.

As the ship explodes, the blast bellows and flashes through the chamber on the other side of the universe, deafening and blinding the watchers.

As the ship explodes, the woman in the cloak the colour of the sea before a storm mutters a curse and disappears.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A magic hand and a steady head,  
> Is all it takes to raise the dead.

Panic coursed through Sigyn’s veins as she teleported away. Shock and grief filled her head, thick as a fog, but at least the heaviness of the others’ emotions was less pervasive outside the Sight Hall. Voice shaking, she pressed her hand against the door and recited a few well-known words. A question bubbled up in the back of her mind that made her sick to her stomach brought a pounding to her temples. It had, admittedly, been her idea in the first place. And after all, wasn’t she the one who left, without warning or explanation? She’d rather not have been hashing out the technicalities as she stepped through the portal into the cold, thin emptiness of space, but her racing thoughts were keeping pace with her heart– not even the sight of her people floating, dead and frozen in front of her, would shut them up. After all, they’d all seen this before, known it was coming.

_So why didn’t we do anything?_

_Shut up shut up shut up._

Dead bodies are hard to sense. Sigyn was relying only on her eyes, and, Asgardian they may be, they were struggling not to freeze over. She didn’t expect to find him as quickly as she did, but she did, and he was closer to her than she thought, and she thanked Hel for this one saving grace and dragged him back through the door in the nick of time. She landed on her front next to him, pulled herself up, he was heavy and frozen solid, and she didn’t know why tears streamed down her face as she flipped him over, placed her hands over his heart and spoke:

_Treguna Mekoides Trecorum Satis Dee_

Over and over she said the words until they became little more than a feverish whisper. Her hand was gripping his now, and her face twisted to hold back angry sobs. It was little more than a glint, but it was there– a blue glow inside her veins that trickled into his– and it grew steadier and stronger as she chanted. Louder and louder she said the words, and her power grew as her breathing became ragged, but the corpse remained frozen. Hot tears trickled down her face. “Wake up,” she choked, “wake _up_ … _Treguna Mekoides Trecorum Satis Deewakeupdammit-_ “On and on she poured out her soul, until she started to feel faint and the words came out slower, slower, slower…

Idunn caught her before she fell over, dragged her away as Loki’s eyes snapped open and his body jerked with the effort of filling his half-thawed lungs with sweet air.

Sigyn let herself slip into unconsciousness, with the reassuring image of Saga and Hagan tending to Loki swimming in front of her eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

Loki woke with a start. Something lingered at the edge of his consciousness, but try as he might to remember, the uneasy visions of his slumber were already out of his mind’s reach. When it passed, he took a moment. Limbs, check; head, check; clothes? He craned his neck to see his chest and further away, his feet, wearing the same things he’d picked up on Sakaar. Check. Good start. Finally, the room drew his attention. For a brief moment, he thought he was in Asgard– something about the chamber and that glorious sky in the window reminded him of home– but then he recalled that both Asgard and home were long gone.

His head hurt. This wasn’t the first time he’d woken up not knowing where he was, but it was certainly one of the more homely places he’d found himself in. He thought he could see a bathroom through an archway in the oak-panelled wall. The bed on which he rested was soft, and it felt good to sink into it, let it absorb some of the heaviness in his bones, a feeling he’d never known before in his long life. But rest was for those who knew where the Hel they were, and if Loki wasn’t mistaken he had very recently died. It was an effort to sit up and swing his legs off the bed, but he managed.

Behind a closed door he heard approaching footsteps, and the sounds of a muffled disagreement. A woman’s voice. A familiar voice, albeit one he hadn’t heard for– well, a long time.

Not long enough.

 _Please don’t let that be who I think it is_.

The door swung open.

 _Shit_.

They stared at each other for a moment that lasted far too long.

The woman had a curtness in her voice that Loki knew was meant for him. She held herself tall, shoulders back and chin up, poise and control in her every movement, in her face, in her hair pulled up in a bun. Without taking her eyes off him, she spoke to a woman wearing a similar blue tunic to herself.

“Nanna, would you give us a minute.”

Nanna looked like she wanted to protest. Instead she glared at the woman, then at Loki, before finally shutting the door.

Loki stood up, taking care to look more relaxed than he felt, trying to force his aching limbs to mirror the visitor’s ease.

Sigyn broke the silence.

“You’re awake.”

Loki glared, but said nothing.

“You slept for a few hours,” she continued, “After I brought you back.”

So, he _had_ died.

Where one question was answered, a dozen more sprang up in its place. He didn’t know where to start, there were so many to choose from. Obvious things first, he supposed.

“How in Bor’s name are you alive?”

Sigyn didn’t rise to the bait; her voice was annoyingly measured.

“We knew about the prophecy. Ragnarok was foretold in the earliest days of Asgard. The Volur left five years ago.”

Of course. Witches. Moving on.

“Left where? Where are we?”

“Space. Last time I checked we were about 2 million lightyears from where Asgard used to be.”

“And I suppose you think saving me redeems you for abandoning your people.”

This time her voice wasn’t quite so calm.

“We didn’t _abandon_ anyone. When we tried to warn Asgard of the coming danger, ‘ _Odin’_ threatened to have us executed.”

Loki was silent for a moment, keeping his eyes fixed on hers. He’d forgotten about that; she was right of course, but he’d be damned if he’d let _her_ of all people know that.

“Well, if I’m to blame, why save me?”

Sigyn hesitated. For the briefest moment, Loki thought he saw a flicker in her stony face. Finally, she said, “Because you were the only one I _could_ save.”

Honesty, as far as Loki was concerned, was a weakness. Before her words could sink in, he took his chance.

“How very touching.”

That did it. Loki felt a jolt of bitter euphoria at the sudden sharpness in Sigyn’s eyes, her voice– but it was imperative he remain calm.

“I suppose the shock of seeing so many innocent people dead made me completely irrational, so I saved the next best thing,” she spat.

“Hm. That, or you were disappointed Thanos finished what you couldn’t.”

“For heaven’s sake, Loki, I never tried to–“

“Save it, Sigyn.”

“I’m not having this discussion–”

“You stabbed me!”

Loki was surprised at the rage he felt growing in his chest, the resentment at the woman’s protestations, her hands curling into fists.

“I didn’t stab you, I threw a dagger–“

“Yes and I’m sure it’s a complete coincidence that it landed in my _chest_.”

“It was an accident!”

“Remarkable accident for someone who can move things with her mind!”

He was really angry now, not what he’d intended at all, but oh it felt _good_ to watch her getting flustered, see her cheeks flush, see her yell–

“Will you just listen to me?”

“Tell me why you tried to murder me!”

“I didn’t try to murder you!”

“Really? If you’re so innocent, why run away?”

“If I’m so guilty, why not prosecute me?”

“Odin seemed to think that your banishment to this witchy little cult in the mountains was punishment enough for a noblewomen. If it were up to me, you would have spent eternity chained up in the dungeons– or my bed…”

Loki could have laughed at the fury in her eyes, but he wasn’t expecting her to stride towards him. He flinched instinctively as Sigyn put a hand firmly in the middle of his chest, her blue eyes boring into his as she said, through clenched teeth,

“I didn’t. Try. To kill. You.”

It was over as soon as it had begun. For the briefest moment, Loki looked as flustered as Sigyn– but she composed herself far more easily. Her next words barely reached his ears.

“Thanos is mere hours away from destroying half of the universe, and _this is all you can think about?_ ” Sigyn hissed. By the time Loki thought to reply, she had stormed out.

The mention of Thanos’ great plan made his skin crawl. He worked a finger under his collar, felt nothing other than smooth skin and sweat. This aching in his bones was exhausting, and now his head was ringing as well.

 _Damn that bitch_.

He was considering lying down again when a woman in cream-coloured robes slipped into the chamber. She looked as old and lined as the wooden staff she bore, but her movements were smooth, and her voice rang like wind-chimes.

“Sorry to interrupt. I’m Saga– so nice to finally meet you Loki, so nice.”

Loki said nothing. Saga did not seem to mind.

“You must be hungry; let me take you to the dining hall, we’ll have a bowl of soup.”

Head still swimming with angry words and Sigyn’s touch, Loki realised she was waiting for a reply.

“I… what?”

“Soup– yes, you really need it, I think!”

What the Hel was she nattering about?

“Thank you, but I don’t think you want to eat soup with me…”

 _Go away, you batty old crone_.

“Nonsense! We take all sorts here, and believe me, it’s good soup.”

Loki glared at the woman. First dying, then Sigyn, and now an old lady with a stick was trying to take him out for lunch.

“Do you take recently deceased murderers?”

Saga didn’t notice his tone.

“Of course– but my dear, I’d hardly call you deceased. As for a murderer.”

At this, Saga produced, from thin air, a heavy, leather-bound book. She opened it to a page which had Loki’s name neatly printed at the top and, amongst many figures and words written in infinitesimally small font, pointed to a number. As her bony finger indicated, the value was far beneath that of the number on the opposing page belonging to Thor. The shock of his encounter with Sigyn was fading; Loki felt a lifetime of sibling rivalry bubbling to the surface in its place as Saga let the tome disappear.

“Can’t even be a murderer without my brother besting me,” he muttered.

“That’s the spirit,” beamed Saga, “Now, time for soup!”


	4. Chapter 4

It had been a long day. Somehow though, what he was hearing still surprised him.

“Let me get this straight: the Volur knew about Hela, the prophecy, that Ragnarok was inevitable– for _millennia_ – so you enchanted your…”

Loki tried to think of a way of describing what was, as far as he could tell, a castle, inside which they were currently sitting at a long wooden table, in a massive, empty dining hall.

“Your dwelling–“

“Valarheim,” corrected Saga, in between mouthfuls of vegetables and barley.

“Valarheim,” he continued, “And you collected what few brave Asgardians would believe you– not that they had a single reason to, mind you– and floated off into space.”

Saga blew on her spoonful of soup thoughtfully.

“I suppose that’s a very succinct way of putting it.”

“Any particular destination?”

“Not specifically.”

“No plan?”

“Well, we have food and water, and the means to keep replenishing the food and water.”

“Because you have plots of farmland sequestered away in pocket dimensions.”

“Yes! Works splendidly, actually.”

Even he had to admit that he’d found that bit rather clever. Loki had enough supplies to last him a month or so tucked away in what he jokingly called his “pockets,” but the idea of turning them into functioning micro-ecosystems had never occurred to him. Then again, he’d never yet been isolated from any place where he could source (or steal) what he needed for that long.

“So these past five years, a gaggle of witches and a few Asgardian refugees have just been drifting along in a house-cum-spaceship, praying they don’t run into trouble.”

“‘Gaggle of witches,’ I don’t mind that… I’ll have to suggest it to the others,” Saga’s gentle smile did not fade as she asked, “But what sort of trouble do you think we should be afraid of?”

“Oh I don’t know, Thanos?”

The old woman sighed.

“Ah, Thanos. He scares you, doesn’t he?”

Loki said nothing, tried to keep his face impassive. Saga’s eyes were rimmed with a gentle sadness, as if she were more disappointed than afraid. Loki wondered how old she was, exactly. She had to be as old as Odin when he’d died, at least, though he suspected the Allfather had little else in common with this softly-spoken seeress.

“It’s all coming to a head now. His moment is almost here, and then– oh well, of course I don’t need to tell you, my dear.”

“You knew about this too, I suppose?”

His companion snorted.

“Six infinity stones in one place, in one hand? The seers couldn’t have missed that one if they tried. Eat your soup dear, you don’t want to be on an empty stomach when it happens.”

Loki stirred his bowl halfheartedly.

“Is it that close?”

“Hard to say. But his servants are on Midgard now, so the stones may as well be his.”

“I wouldn’t underestimate those humans,” muttered Loki, thinking back to his own adventures on Earth. A thought occurred to him.

“How do you know they’re on Midgard?”

“We watch,” replied Saga simply, “There’s always someone watching. How do you think Sigyn knew you needed help?”

The mention of Sigyn made Loki’s jaw clench.

“I find it hard to believe that she was trying to help _me_.”

“Loki, Sigyn never tried to kill you. As for why she saved you, well, nobody knows that but Sigyn herself– but I assure you, she acted very much of her own accord. Ah, Hagan!”

Loki’s mouth had opened to argue, but he decided to keep his thoughts to himself for now. The tall, broad-shouldered man striding towards them ignored Loki completely to talk to Saga. After being in the woman’s pleasant company, it almost felt rude.

“Saga. Idunn and Erik are waiting for you in the Sight Hall.”

“Ah well, Loki, I’m afraid I must run, but it was lovely meeting you!”

Saga stood up, leaning on her staff, and made her way to the door with surprising speed, Hagan close behind.

“Now, you may go back to your room, I assume you know the way, or keep yourself busy, if you wish. Don’t open locked doors. What else… oh, probably best not to talk to Sigyn, if you see her. Anyway, must dash. Be good!”

Loki waited until the swish of her robes on the tiles had faded. He looked at his half-finished soup.

For the first time in a long time, he had no idea what to do.


	5. Chapter 5

_Don’t open locked doors_. Saga’s words wafted through Loki’s mind as he stood before yet another great, wooden doorway.

He’d finished his soup and, after a brief tour of the dining hall to try and find somewhere to put his bowl, (during which time it had vanished of its own accord) had attempted to return to the room he’d woken up in. As he went, however, he was surprised to find his energy returning, his aching limbs at least partly soothed and, seeing as he was lost anyway, decided to let his feet take him where they may. He felt bizarrely calm, considering the events that had brought him here, and those to come; and yet, something in Saga’s words had let him put Thanos from his mind, at least for the moment. Or perhaps he was just avoiding the thought, relishing the sense of security (however unfounded) he felt here among the most distant stars. Whatever the reason, impending doom seemed distant concern to Loki as he explored Valarheim. It was also a welcome distraction from the myriad questions still buzzing in his mind.

He’d wandered down seemingly endless wide corridors with impressive high ceilings and intricately tiled floors and, so far, hadn’t run into a single person. Loki suspected that this was on purpose. Of the corridors, rooms and stairwells he drifted through, many had windows displaying a seemingly endless blue sky stretching out in every direction. An illusion of course; he wondered what lay behind it.

Then, finally, at the top of a stairwell and down yet another empty corridor framed by massive arched windows, he’d found the door he stared at now. It was as tall as four men, and made of wood stained an oily black, inlaid with an intricate floral pattern that curved around twogolden handles. No lock was visible, but one firm shove was enough to convince Loki the door was not meant to be opened.

He looked around him again. In a very strange way, this place reminded him of the palace in which he’d grown up. It was nothing like it visually, of course– there weren’t any pillars, for a start, and far too much timber– and yet wandering the cavernous walkways, empty and light-filled, connected by intricate passages too many to be recorded anywhere but the minds of the people using them, filled with endless rooms both locked and open, Loki felt like a child discovering everything Asgard had to offer again. For though this place and the people living in it were surely Asgardian, the Volur were outcasts, and none but the sorcerers themselves ever saw Valarheim. Something about this place where magic slept in the walls and the cracks in the floors was fascinating, comforting. His mind, for once, was kept from other, more unpleasant thoughts.

And just like the mischievous child who’d once roamed the palace, Loki wasn’t about to let one locked door stop him.

He put his hands on the cold handles and concentrated, reaching out gently with his mind to see where the doors weaknesses lay. Every object had them, and this one was no exception. Loki’s magic was cool and pliant in his hands, like clay beneath a potter’s fingers, a lifetime of practise perfecting the art and honing the instinct. After a brief search he found a crack which grew when he mumbled a few well-worn words, and then with a hardy push the great, black door swung inward.

If Loki had been expecting jewels or treasures, he would have been sorely disappointed. In fact, based on all the other rooms he’d visited, what he had been expecting were books, bookshelves, scrolls, manuscripts and more books. The Volur certainly took great pride in keeping detailed documentation. Loki had flicked through some of them and found records allegedly dating back to before Bor’s time– history that, as far as the rest of Asgard’s textbooks were concerned, had long since been lost.

But this room was not filled with books. It did have shelves; tall ones, reaching up to the ceiling and disappearing into the shadows, all around the walls of the little room. In the centre of the floor stood a squat sandstone font. Loki took a step towards it, letting the door swing silently to a close. In iron holders on the walls, candles flickered to life of their own accord, and he saw that the font was empty.

Loki looked around uncertainly. Try as he might to ignore it, something about this room was making him uneasy. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Loki could see that the shelves surrounding him were filled with random objects– here a spoon, there a doll, up there an old inkwell. Each thing had its place on a wooden shelf, free from dust. He inspected the shelves. A pipe; a dagger; a child’s shoe; a chipped teacup filled with sand; a hairbrush. _What could this magpie’s nest of a room be for?_

A glint drew his eye to a metal chain– not arranged for display, just a pile of tangled silver in between a tooth and a thimble– with a heart-shaped locket on the end. Something stirred in Loki’s mind. Then it clicked. He’d seen that locket; he’d _chosen_ that locket. He’d given it to her when she’d agreed to marry him, and she still had it.

He picked it up without thinking, feeling the fine chain slipping over his fingers as his thumb traced the small heart, half afraid the pounding in his chest would somehow break the delicate thing. There was absolutely no reason for him to care one way or another after all this time. He should just put the damn thing down and leave this gloomy little cave of mediocre wonders– but then it couldn’t hurt knowing either.

Loki flicked open the locket with his thumbnail. The candles went out.

* * *

Loki turned around in the yawning darkness surrounding him, reaching for a shelf, the font, anything, and finding nothing.

“Loki,” said a voice.

He turned with a start. It was Sigyn, somehow visible in the pitch black, wearing a delicately embroidered gown. It was something the ladies might have worn at the palace before it and the rest of Asgard were reduced to rubble. Her face, framed by her long hair, looked surprised– though, not as surprised as Loki felt to see her here, without light, dressed like that.

“You’re here,” said Sigyn, her mouth breaking into a gentle smile.

What Loki wanted to say was, “What are you wearing, and why are you smiling?”

What he actually said was, “Wh-umpf,” as Sigyn closed the space between them and pulled his face down into a kiss.

“What the Hel,” spat Loki, shoving her away bodily and wiping his mouth.

Sigyn looked at him with eyes wide with shock, then turned and disappeared.

“No– Sigyn–!” Loki cried after her.

“She’s gone.”

His head snapped around to face the speaker: a small girl.

Loki stared down at a very young Sigyn, seven or eight at the most. He weighed her up. She didn’t look dangerous, but Loki knew better than to trust that as a metric when dealing with magic. And this was magic, he was certain; he just had to figure out what kind, and he would be fine.

“Where has she gone?” he began.

“Away,” shrugged Sigyn, twisting a lock of hair.

“What is this place?” he tried again.

Sigyn looked up at him and frowned.

“You’re not normally here,” she said, “Not really. How did you get here?”

“I opened a locket,” replied Loki, hoping that if he stayed calm and answered the girl’s questions, she might answer one of his. Sigyn seemed to consider this for a moment.

Finally she said, “I don’t have a locket,” turned on her heel, and disappeared just as before.

This time Loki didn’t jump when she appeared.

She walked towards him, dressed more casually now, holding a bundle of blankets. He heard a baby’s gurgling, growing louder. As she approached, the darkness seemed to shimmer and shift behind her; then it growled, low and heavy. Suddenly, three shapes burst forth from the nothingness. Loki took a step back in alarm as a great black wolf and two enormous, thick snakes each sunk their jaws into Sigyn’s body.

“Loki,” she screamed, struggling to hold the swaddled bundle out of the beasts’ reach. Loki watched. The fangs ripping into her soft flesh certainly seemed real enough, as did the blood pouring down her raised arms, and the glint of the knife she now brandished in one hand at the monsters. _But it’s not real_ , he reminded himself.

“Loki,” screamed the would-be Sigyn again, “Loki, please!”

The knife sliced through one of the serpent’s throats, spraying the now wailing bundle with blood.

 _It’s not real_.

“Help!”

The wolf lunged for the blankets.

 _It’s an illusion, it makes no difference if you help her_.

“Loki! Help me, please!”

Sigyn swivelled just in time to evade the wolf. As the blankets slipped, Loki finally saw the face of the screaming child– as did the second serpent.

“Loki!”

He stopped thinking and lunged. His dagger caught the pouncing snake in the throat at the same moment as Sigyn’s sliced the wolf’s cheek. The serpent’s fangs coated his hand with a spray of burning venom that made him cry out in pain, but then the beasts fled, and Loki was left standing there with Sigyn and a crying baby, panting. He turned to her. Her wounds made his stomach turn, but she paid him no attention as she soothed the child.

“Are you okay?”

She looked up as if she’d forgotten he were there.

Suddenly the blankets she was holding fell to the ground, empty. The deafening, high-pitched wail continued, but as Sigyn stared at him, her eyes grew wide with horror.

“No,” she whispered, backing away.

Loki looked behind him for a monster and saw nothing.

He turned back to her; she was clutching her belly.

“Sigyn, what’s wrong?” He took a step towards her, watched her eyes grow even wider as she screamed–

“No! No, please!”

–heard her rapid breaths above the newborn’s wailing, drowning out his own thoughts. A red stain bloomed from underneath her pale hands.

“Shit, you– Sigyn, what’s happening?”

“No!” she screamed, “No, no!”

She crumpled to the floor as blood covered her hands and soaked her dress.

Loki’s mouth felt dry. He knew it wasn’t real, it couldn’t be, it mustn’t be; but when he looked down, blood dripped from his hands like ruby paint and it felt warm, and it felt slick, and it felt more real than anything he’d ever known.

 _It’s not real, it’s not real it’s not_ –

The baby’s shrieks became a thousand voices and the hot blood burned Loki’s hands, the darkness was closing in and Sigyn’s violent screams pierced his skull like bullets and, and–

And then there was light.

* * *

Sigyn stood over him in her neat blue tunic, the silver locket clasping itself together around her neck and tucking into her collar.

“Get out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's been far too long since I last posted a chapter! If you're still reading this, thanks for sticking with me and I hope you enjoy what's to come. :)


	6. Chapter 6

Loki lay propped against a shelf, heart pounding. He stared up at Sigyn, trying to slow his ragged breaths as she glared at him.

“I said get out,” she hissed. Loki swallowed and dragged himself up, dragged himself back to reality. A thousand questions swum at the edge of his mind, trapped behind his heavy tongue. He shook his head, trying to clear it. Sigyn continued to glare. Finally unsticking the words from his dry throat, Loki rasped, “What _was_ that?”

“None of your business.”

“I think it was.”

“I disagree. Get out.”

“Or what?”

For the second time that day Sigyn’s hand pressed into Loki’s chest, and for the second time he felt a wave of nausea and itching, prickling magic wash over him. He hadn’t teleported for years, let alone been forcibly teleported. It was disorienting to find himself in the corridor, watching Sigyn slam the great black door shut.

“Stop doing that,” he growled.

“What part of ‘don’t open locked doors’ didn’t you understand?”

“Answer my question and maybe I’ll answer yours.”

“No,” snapped Sigyn, her face stormy. “Go back to your room if you can’t stay out of trouble.”

“You’re not my mother.”

“No. But then, I did give you life.”

At this Sigyn began to stride past Loki, who grabbed her arm.

“What are you–“

She tried to pull away, but he held her firmly and, summoning as much magic as he could, focused on bridging the gap between them.

“ _Tell me what I saw_.”

It was a struggle to hold the ancient channel open, but at least it didn’t feel as awful when he was in control. Sure enough, one word reluctantly trickled through: _prophecy_. Loki’s mind began to race as Sigyn yanked her hand away with a gasp.

“How dare you,” she hissed, fresh fury in her eyes.

“Whose prophecy did I see?”

“Fuck you.”

“Was it mine?”

But Sigyn was already storming away.

Loki opened his mouth to yell a curse, but stopped short. Mischief stirred in his mind.

“I’d hate to be the owner of that prophecy,” he called after her.

“It was miserable. Wolves and snakes and blood– and so much screaming, my, well...”

Sigyn slowed, then stopped. As Loki stepped silently towards her, she turned to face him reluctantly.

“You saw snakes?”

Loki nodded.

“How many?”

“Two.”

“What did they do? What colour were they?”

Loki’s voice dripped like honey. “That depends; whose prophecy is it?”

Sigyn stared daggers. Finally, she seemed to resign herself and muttered: “Mine.”

He couldn’t say for sure what stirred in her face– something halfway between regret and contempt. Whatever it was was gone in an instant.

“The snakes. Tell me more about them.”

“They were black, I think. They attacked you; they were trying to get at the baby.”

He pushed down the strange feeling at the back of his throat.

“Baby? What baby?”

“You were holding a baby.”

Sigyn’s brow knitted and she fell silent.

“What does it mean?” he asked, affecting boredom.

She ignored the question and was quiet a moment, her face stony.

“What else did you see?”

“You were there as a child, and before that, as an adult in finery. You were very... affectionate.”

He relished the last word, let it fall between them like a boulder. Loki could almost hear her teeth grinding together.

“Then, as I said, there were the beasts. And after we fought them off, the baby disappeared, but it was still screaming, and you–“ He paused; well, why not have some fun? His voice became pained, earnest.

“–You were covered in blood.”

Sigyn’s expression didn’t change.

“You were bleeding, and screaming.”

Silence.

“Blood was pouring out of you as you writhed on the ground.”

He may as well have told her that water is wet.

“And what about you?” She asked finally.

“What about me?”

“What were you doing while this was going on? Did you talk to anyone?”

“Yes, I told you to fuck off when you kissed me, then I tried to get answers from the child–you, until finally you were–“

“–Bleeding, yes, you said,” she interrupted, “What were you doing while I bled?”

Loki hesitated for a moment.

“There was blood on my hands.”

“Well obviously, but what did you _do?_ ”

He almost missed it in her impatience.

“I… obviously?”

It was Sigyn’s turn to hesitate.

“Well yes, obviously,” she shrugged, “You’ve killed people, plenty of people, I believe there’s usually blood involved.”

“Yes, but I’ve never killed you.”

Sigyn eyes widened a moment. She clenched her jaw, looked away and said nothing. She didn’t need to. Loki’s hands tingled as he curled them into fists. He felt something building in his chest.

“Sigyn,” he began, “Why am I in your prophecy?”

“Because you broke into the prophecy room and opened the damn locket. If I hadn’t have come and gotten you out–“

“Sigyn,” he interrupted, his voice dangerously quiet, “Why did I have blood on my hands?”

He didn’t notice himself standing taller, or Sigyn squaring her shoulders.

“I’ve told you too much as it is,” she replied, voice even.

“You haven’t told me anything.”

“And why should I, exactly? It’s my bloody fate, not yours.”

“Well that’s just it, isn’t it?” Loki tried to contain fifteen centuries of repressed anger, but heard it seeping into his voice anyway. “You knew. When we were engaged, you knew.”

“Loki–“

“You tried to kill me to avoid your fate.”

“No! Loki, listen to me: what I told you was the truth. The night before I ran away, I…“

Sigyn took a deep breath, licked her lips, then looked him in the eyes.

“I dreamt that you were going to kill me.”

Loki raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

“Look, I know how it sounds, but it felt real– more than real, it felt vivid. And I didn’t know it was a prophecy, I just woke in the middle of the night convinced that the man sleeping beside me had it in for me. So I went to the armoury and found a dagger, not that it made me feel any better. And then later that day we started fighting about something completely stupid, and you weren’t even angry, but I was so scared that…”

Sigyn swallowed hard, squeezed her eyes shut.

“Well, I thought I was defending myself. But when I realised what I’d done, I was horrified, obviously. I fled and I– fuck, I just ran! I took my horse and rode for three hours in the rain, and ended up on the Volur’s doorstep. _That_ was when I learned what my vision meant.”

When she’d finished she sighed and looked up at him, waiting, seemingly weary behind her furrowed brow. He took a moment to read her face before answering.

“Do you really expect me to believe that?”

She rolled her eyes.

“Well given that you’ve seen the prophecy, yes. But I can prove I’m telling the truth, if you like.”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” said Loki, recoiling at the memory of Sigyn’s voice, bound up with her thoughts and her magic, ringing in his head.

“Well then I guess you’ll just have to take my word.”

Loki shook his head, trying to process her words.

“You attacked me and ran away without a word- you disappeared, for a _millennium_. You could have _said_ something dammit, anything!”

Sigyn let out a bitter laugh.

“And how do you propose I should have done that? Sent a raven? Or just dropped by the palace for afternoon tea? ‘Oh hello, ex-future-father-in-law Allfather, I’m here to see your son who all of Asgard thinks I tried to murder– but don’t worry, I didn’t really try to kill him! I was just hysterical because I had a nightmare, which was actually a prophecy foretelling that he will eventually kill _me_!’”

Loki met her gaze as she spoke; it irritated him to admit she had a point.

“And you definitely wouldn’t have believed me,” continued Sigyn, her voice gentler now, “If I’d told you you were an adopted frost giant. Or that you had a sister who your father banished to Niffleheim, all but wiping out the Valkyrie in the process–”

“Or that one day she’d come back and destroy Asgard?”

“Exactly.”

“And how long have you known all that?”

Sigyn smiled sadly.

“Saga told me everything on my first night.” She paused, as if deciding whether to continue. “The Volur make a point of remembering things that Odin would have preferred were forgotten.”

Loki reflected on this for a minute.

“And what of the other parts of the prophecy– the snakes, the baby, the… kissing?”

Sigyn opened her mouth to answer, then stopped dead, terror filling her face.

“What is it?” asked Loki, with a hideous feeling of deja vu.

Her lips barely moved.

“He’s on Midgard.”

**Author's Note:**

> A Loki/Sigyn fic has been sitting in my drafts, in one version or another, for literally years. This might turn into a big rambling mess, but I just felt it was time to get it out into the world!
> 
> Thanks for reading! Please leave a like and, if you're feeling generous, a comment! <3


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